A Streetlamp, The Snow, And A Window

“I want to work on my prayer,” he said, and went outside onto the porch. His little sister followed too, and stood by him watching while he stared into the darkness.

“The night is not dark enough,” she said, quietly, “and oh, dear brother, the snow is not gentle enough.”

“But listen to the hushed sounds," he answered. “Will I remember all the good things we have received?”

“Oh yes,” she said, wondering why he allowed himself to ask that question, “you will make everyone happy to glance back. They will feel all the love and happiness you felt.”

“I want to say it simply, will that help them understand and feel happy?”

“They will feel what you feel,” she answered; “for they will know how much love and hope you have in your heart. Look there,” she said pointing at the streetlamp across the street, “look there at the light and the falling snow at the corner,” and they stood together looking at the December snow, at the trees and the parked cars, at the lights from the other houses, at the street with faint tire tracks being covered by the snow, and at the footsteps on the snow.

“Please enjoy the silence,” his sister whispered. “It is a great honor to give thanks and praise.”

“It is a great honor to give thanks and praise,” the boy echoed quietly. “I must remember to be humble.”

“You will be humble, don’t worry.”
“I get so flustered,” he said, “and forget things I should remember. What happens when I forget the most important thing and mispronounce a name or completely forget someone,” he asked, suddenly.

“Just remember that you’re doing this with all of the love in your heart,” she replied. “Do not worry about remembering everybody or every event. Just remember all the love and hope that the family has shared.”

For a moment, he remained silent, continued watching the snow fall from the sky. “Then I shall begin my prayer with you,” he said; “I shall think of you the entire time I am praying.”

Again they looked at the snow; watching it fall from the darkness; watching it rise up from the trees, rooftops, and bushes; watching the snow be forced here and there by the wind; enjoying the hushed, steady sounds of the night, the wind and their breathing; enjoying the shadows from the lights in other windows across the street, and then together they went inside.

That snowy December night great anticipation came to the boy. While his little sister slept, she imagined herself another world, and journeyed on through all types of gardens and parks enjoying the darkness, enjoying the snow. The boy tried to remember all the prayers that he had ever heard, he tried to recite them all again, finally his eyes did close and his mind did rest. As he slept that night, he kept seeing the glowing streetlamp, the blowing snow, and a window—within his heart he felt a longing to find the beauty, the hope, and the love for all of the creatures on the world; within his heart was a longing to share his thoughts, his memories, his hopes.

At last, when his eyes opened the next morning he knew that his silence was true and his vision pure, he opened up the Bible and found the Beatitudes and read them over and over, again and again.

A few days later, seated around the large table in the dining room, surrounded by blood relatives and family friends he glanced at his dear sister, then bowed his head, closed his eyes and began to pray in a quiet, hushed humble voice.